Not so Keane on Jesus

Okay, so no Keane. They have decided to cancel their concert in Princes Street Gardens on account of exhaustion. Big bunch of girls. I prefer Snow Patrol anyway - so there!

This week has been busy but not necessarily with anything particularly exciting. For that reason I should probably stop this entry right here. But I won't because, well, it's never stopped me in the past and I'm here now - writing stuff.

Work has been good. Very busy, which keeps my mind off fun things and my eyes off the clock. I've designed a suite of posters to promote the marketing department internally. I wanted to get across the idea that the department now had the staff and the time to do some proper marketing. That we are 'open for business again', so to speak.

The first poster I came up with said 'Back again' with a nice smiley picture of Jesus. I loved it and think Jesus is an underused marketing tool in the financial services sector. However, I opted for self-censorship and relegated 'Jesu' to my drawer. He has now been replaced by Dirty Den in one poster and Bobby from Dallas in another. Quality.

I was asked to come up with some creative ideas for a short movie file promoting pensions. I'm actually quite excited about this, which is now depressing me. How bad must it be when I'm excited by pensions? I think I'll go slash my wrists with my Coldplay CD. (Repeat to self: my job pays the bills!)

Leanne and I had dinner at David Bann on Tuesday night. It was so good we didn't bother going to see a Festival show as planned. Instead, we ordered the Amaretto Marscarpone cheesecake and took our time over it. It was an excellent night made more so by the realisation that food, wine and chat with a good friend is preferable to a professional comedian.

On Thursday evening, I endured my first hockey training session. Two hours, three minor injuries and a static wheeze later I hobbled home. Truly knackered, I immediately drew a hot bubble bath and indulged my desperate muscles. Hopefully, the addition of fitness training on Tuesdays will mean the sessions get easier. I live in hope.

I treated myself to an afternoon showing of 'Easy Living' at the Filmhouse during my lunch hour on Friday. I expected it to be quite empty, but Cinema 1 was rammed. It was top-quality screwball and I loved every minute of it. When the boy and the girl get together at the end, his long disapproving father gives him a job. He tells the girl she has a job too - "cooking my breakfast." What a proposal! I returned to work in a delightful mood for the rest of the day.

The office summer BBQ on Friday night was really quite pish. It was pouring with rain, there was a poor turnout, I was about the only one dancing and I left my umbrella in the club at the end of the night.

Saturday was much better. Another great film at the Filmhouse (The Laughing Policeman) and dinner with Sinead afterwards. I was ravenous and longing for a steak, so we eventually ended up at the Smokestack in Leith. My medium-rare fillet steak and chips went down an absolute treat. We chatted deeply for hours until we realised that Sinead might miss the last train. A taxi to Waverely meant she was just in time for her rowdy journey home.

Today I depressed myself by reading all about the Horn of Africa. (How much for that Russian AK-47? Why sir, that'll set you back three cows. And the US M-16? Oh, that'll be five cows. Well I'll take that then since there's no vegetaion to feed my cows and an M-16 will do a better job of shifting the 6,000 desperate souls who are sleeping on my football field-sized plot of land. Maybe it'll convince them to head for the port and try to secure passage to the Yemen in a death-trap steel container on a rickety ship that's likely to sink with the loss of all life before the appearance of the Yemeni officials forces the smugglers to toss their human cargo into the carnivore-infested waters or maybe they'll join me in a war with the Ethiopians across the desert. That Bin Laden guy sure speaks a lot of sense.) It's a mire of such complete desolate hopelessness that I don't think there's even the hint of a solution. Governments aren't talking about it - not so much because they don't care (which they don't), but more so because their shocking impotence would be laid bare for all to see. The Middle East is child's play compared to this.

But that's too depressing a note on which to end this entry. Sinead said to me last night: "When something doesn't go to plan, people have a tendency to set themselves in a pessimistic frame of mind. They think things can only ever be worse, but a lot of the time things turn out better than they could have imagined." From the long list of personal success stories I've been acquiring, I know that's true. She was talking in the context of a personal issue rather than a global one, but it would be pretty damn skippy if the world got a break too.

Sofa so good

Festival excellence. Jen made the trip up from Liverpool and we both made the most of the weekend.

My shin pads, gum shield, hockey stick and pink hockey glitter ball all arrived in time for Thursday's game, and I noticed a marked difference in my willingness to get 'stuck in'. My blue gum shield makes me look particularly attractive and, according to its instructions, I can 'breathe, talk and spit!". Oh how people will flock to me.

After the game, I had a rather embarrassing encounter with a friend of a friend. As we said our goodbyes, I saw he intended to kiss me on the lips. Uncomfortable with this, I lowered my head to silently plead with the ground to open up and swallow me. Unfortunately, Mr Trying-His-Luck had decided to part his lips, which meant I ended up with my nose in his mouth. Hello, awkward!

Kelly, Tim, Kate, Steven and I headed out for drinks at Baroque after work on Friday. I'd only intended to stay for one but ended up just walking straight from the pub to the station to meet Jen. We dropped Jen's stuff off at the flat then headed out to Shapla for an Indian takeaway. We started the weekend as we meant to go on by ordering the 'special' lentils as a side dish.

It was so good to catch-up and even better over some great food and wine. We chatted non-stop about all manner of things until about 2:45am. Jen slept on the new sofa and informed me that it is most comfortable.

On Saturday, we bought almond croissants from the Manna House and fought our way along Princes Street. As we were heading out to Careth's new house for her house-warming party, we stopped in at M&S to buy a gift. We opted for a gorgeous fuschia orchid, which Jen christened Olivier, and a bottle of pink cava. After eating our sandwiches and croissants, and indulging in the sun in the gardens, we stopped at the bus stop to catch the no. 22. I had the honour of carrying Olivier through the thronging masses and noted that he was attracting a fair bit of attention. "Absolutely beautiful" exclaimed one woman, to which Jen remarked: "Olivier! You cad!"

We then decided to carry out a little psychological experiment to see how many smiles we could induce by casually placing Olivier in front of people's faces. It was remarkable. I noted he drew almost as many smiles from men as he did women, though it was only old ladies who actually commented on his beauty. Jen would identify prime candidates for a comment and I would try to keep Olivier in their faces for as long as possible. We thoroughly amused ourselves in this way for about 20 minutes. At which point we realised that there were no buses on Princes Street. We walked to Lothian Road, by way of a massive (and unintentional) diversion, where we waited another 20 minutes before the no 22 picked us up and took us to Careth's new place.

We presented Careth with her gifts (voici Olivier!) and had the privilege of meeting her boyfriend, Mark, for the first time. He is a lovely guy and both Jen and I confided that we were pleased Careth had someone as wonderful as she deserves. Happiness!

A delicious meal at The Apartment, followed by a stroll across the Meadows brought us to Bristo Square. We went to see a comedienne called Carrie Quinlan who was very likeable and quite funny, but who Jen and I agreed, could have got a lot more out of the material. The highlight of our weekend came at 22:40pm when we went to see Simon Amstell. He opened up with the line: "Matel brought out wheelchair Barbie a few years ago", and it was a great show. As we walked home, Jen and I both admitted we kinda fancied him which adds yet another gay guy to my list.

On Sunday, we took a leisurely stroll along by the Water of Leith and stopped in at the King's Wark for some breakfast. Jen made her train by the skin of her teeth and I looked forward to another Monday morning spent at work - yeah right!

Next week: The film festival, Snow Patrol & Keane.

Lesbian, Prostitute or Lesbian Prostitute?

Ah le weekend! It came with a huge sigh of relief and a good deal of anticipation.

Departure Lounge had been in the diary for some weeks and Kerry's Caribbean party had been in for even longer. I left work early on Friday and spent a long time pampering myself and getting ready. I wanted to make an effort for Departure Lounge and decided to liven up my outfit just a tad. It was a black t-shirt with an open back so I decided to wear it back-to-front - as you do. For a splash of colour (and, mostly, to cover my bra) I wrapped a blue/green/yellow scarf around my breasts. I was pleased with the look and set off for The Scotsman hotel to meet Katie.

I walked into the North Bridge Brasserie and everybody stared. While my attire was perfectly acceptable for a Departure Lounge party girl, I looked a bit too much like a working girl for The Scotsman. It was 2For 1 on champagne cocktails so I took the liberty of ordering raspberry bellinis. Katie showed up and we filled each other in on recent events. We headed down to the Ladies' room before we left, where Katie told me the most outrageous feminine hygiene story I've ever heard.

At The Caves, we were duly stamped with the word 'entered' on our wrists, given some balloons and headed upstairs for a gin & tonic. Not long after, Lawrence and his friend Dave showed up. We got stuck in about the Sambuca and I confided in Katie that I was "totally pished". Downstairs, I got my groove back and shook it on the dancefloor. My top started to slide down to reveal my bra - not a good look. I discreetly managed to fix it and continued to dance whilst holding it in place. Unfortunately, my jeans are a little too big and they ended up halfway down my arse - an even worse look. Hey ho! It was still a great night.

Outside, Katie and I disuaded some Danish tourists from wasting their time and headed off with Lawrence, Dave and Marc for a game of golf in some secret gardens. We waited until 4.30am for it to get a bit lighter and crept into the walled garden. It was one of the coolest places I've ever been. It was massive and had spectacular views to Arthur's Seat. The early morning mist only made it more romantic. I'm so getting myself a key for that place one day.

I got back to my flat around 6am and slept until 8.45am when Kelly collected me to play in a hockey tournament. It was not one of my better performances and I collapsed into bed on getting back to my flat.

Kerry's Caribbean party was kicking off at 3.30pm, which was now an hour ago, and I still had to make my outfit. I scooped out a pineapple and made it into a bikini top. I then used the top of the pineapple as a hat. How cute! Sinead called to find out where the hell I was. I explained that I'd been playing golf until 6am and then played in a hockey tournament at 9am, so was understandably knackered.

I arrived at Kerry's at 6.30pm, to a full swing calypso. The place looked great and everyone had made a big effort with the dressing up. Katie showed up as a treasure chest, which Sinead remarked was "very lateral". Kerry asked if it was true that I'd been playing golf and hockey. I said that it was, to which she replied "What? Like a big lesbian?" The music was great, the cocktails were like rocket-fuel and the chat had everybody rolling on the floor.

I spent Sunday at my parents' place. It was really, really nice. We took a walk to the fruit farm, got some gorgeous raspberries and strawberries, had some ice cream in the sun and walked home again. My dad was on really good form, which I was glad about after last Thursday's lock-out episode. I fell asleep outside in the sun for a bit and then we headed out for dinner.

All in all, it was a fantastic weekend, but I think I need an extended rest to recover.

My short fuse

Last week started with a bang.

As I was leaving my flat on Monday morning, the lights in my hall blew their fuse. This knocked out the lights in my bedroom, bathroom and sitting room. Now, over the last few weeks I've done more drilling, hammering and screwing than a Robot Wars groupie, so I took this latest development in my stride. That was until I discovered that my fusebox was actually installed personally by Michael Faraday. Oh no, there were no little switches that needed to be flicked up, instead there were circuit boards, magnets and copper wires. I was just about to phone the museum to see if one of the curators would be able to help when I remembered my Grandad gets back from holiday on Monday. So next week people, I'll be learning a valuable (well, at least until I get my flat rewired) new skill.

Slightly miffed that I'd been unable to get my lights back on, I consoled myself with the fact that I would be questioning the Chief Executive of my company in a few hours time. Running late for absolutely everything in my life, I decided to get to the meeting 15 minutes early. I opened up my calendar to check which room we were in only to discover that the meeting had started 15 minutes previously. Shit!

I briefly considered not going but remembered I'd told everyone in my team about it and they'd be expecting me to report back. I almost convinced myself I could "just make up his answers" as he was unlikely to say anything controversial anyway. Finally though, I decided to bite the bullet and turn up late.

I walked into a room where about 20 people were sitting round a board table. I apologised for my lateness as I tried to scan the room for a spare seat. Not seeing any I pulled up the one next to the CEO at the head of the table. He looked somewhat startled and immediately started to move his chair away. Keen to make up for lost time, I proceeded to bombard him with questions about his vision for the company - pointing out that none of it had made its way down to the marketing department. He tried desperately to involve the other people in the room, but they had nothing to say so he was pretty much left with me. He spoke about the company's talent management plans, saying that truly talented people were very difficult to manage but if managed correctly they proved to be a great return. He then turned to me and asked "are you difficult to manage?", to which I of course replied, "extremely."

All in all, the meeting didn't go too badly considering I was late, barged into the room, almost sat on his lap and then told him exactly what I thought of his company.

On Tuesday, my team had a 'blue sky' planning session. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of thinking this might actually be a 'blue sky' planning session. My manager met each and every one of my suggestions with a "no" or a "well, that wouldn't be possible for at least another 12 months". Needless to say, I became frustrated and went 'nice girl postal'. We challenged each other back and forth for a full 15 minutes before my manager just told me the discussion was over. I've realised that here, the term 'blue sky' actually means 'things that we might not have time for in the next year' but in no way means 'thinking ahead and being innovative'. I'm so going to struggle with this.

I battled my way through the remainder of the week. Metaphorically for the most part, but actually during Thursday's hockey game. A Phil Mitchell look-a-like on the opposing team took his stick off my right shin. Stunned from the sheer pain of it, I then stumbled backwards, fell over and grazed my left knee. Annoyingly, I wasn't wearing any shinguards and couldn't really complain. (I have since ordered shinpads and a gumshield - a good idea, I'm sure).

I rushed back from hockey, got changed and buzzed Leanne in as she was coming round to see the new flat for the first time. About 5 minutes later, I realised that she had no way of knowing which flat was mine (no name, no number) so I opened the door and stuck my head out. Right enough, she was heading up to the next floor so I leaned out further to call to her and - click!

That would be the sound of my door locking shut behind me. I was now out in the hallway sans keys, money, mobile phone and anything that might be of any use to me at all. I borrowed Leanne's phone to call my mum as she is the only other person with a key to the flat. Her line was engaged so I called my gran to ask her to let my mum know when she got off the phone. Leanne and I popped across to Tinellis for some dinner. My gran called back to say that my mum was at work and my dad was going to call her to let her know.

Five minutes later my dad called. This is an accurate re-typing of our conversation:

Me: Hello?
Dad: What's happening?
Me: You were calling mum, you tell me what's happening.
Dad: I've phoned mum at her work. What's happening?
Me: What do you mean 'what's happening'?
Dad: I believe you're locked out.
Me: (Through gritted teeth) You know I'm locked out. You know I need mum to bring my keys over - you tell me what's happening.
Dad: You're locked out? How did that happen?
Me: It was an accident. I leaned out of my door too far and it locked behind me.
Dad: I take it there was drink involved?
Me: (Thinking only on your part you crazy psycho fool and now raising my voice) No. I was just back from hockey, I hadn't had a chance to have a "hmpnhing (mumbled curse) drink". (I now signal the waiter to top up my wine.)
Dad: So you're fit to drive then?
Me: (exploding, people in restaurant looking) Yes I'm fit to drive and I have my car keys but I just thought it would be funny to get mum to drive over and ... Do you honestly think I'd be asking mum to drive over if I had my "hmphnhing" car keys in my hand? They're in the "hmphnhing" flat with everything else.

At this point, understandably, the call ended. Leanne and I had a delicious meal and a good laugh despite all the surrounding tension. My mum (star that she is) got over at about 11pm with the keys and let us into the flat.

Unfortunately, I couldn't really show Leanne the flat as the fusebox was still awaiting my Grandad's expertise and we were pretty much in the dark.

Roll on the weekend.